An Eldritch Legacy: Sin & Sacrilege

"Just what am I missing in all this?"

A soft, honeyed voice spoke to itself.

Its tone was gentle and contemplative, filled with insane focus as the owner searched for clues where there were none.

There was a silent frustration in the air as the answers were no unveiled.

The place was a grand theatre.

The structure was built to embody the very meaning of beauty and elegance.

Colors of gold and ruby sparkled like brilliant flames.

The walls curved with murals and images depicting all things beautiful—

Gorgeous flowers, spirits of unimaginable grace, creatures too stunning to seem real. The aura of it all was one of serene pious nature.

Scenes of love and sacrifice, requiring a poetic mind to even begin to understand.

A grand stage sat at the heart of it all, crafted from a mysterious stone that glittered with white-silver light, resonating with the radiance of the sky pouring in from the open dome above.

This light cast an ethereal glow upon everything.

Lanterns and lamps floated in the air, amplifying the natural glow, weaving serenity into the space with a soft, poignant lull—like glass wind chimes fluttering in a breeze, tugging at the souls of those beneath these sounds.

The seats were vast in number, following a descending arc like an arena or coliseum—

If not for the excessive elegance, one could mistake it for either.

The seats were adorned in velvet, arranged in tiers of luxury.

Some were covered in the furs of beautiful beasts, seemingly reserved for the most privileged.

The lowest tier—closest to the stage—was the least adorned, dressed in refined hides. These were for low-ranking nobles or extraordinary commoners.

Above them were the velvet-covered seats, then those draped in rare furs...

And then—there was a row that held no ordinary seats at all.

Only thrones.

At the center of these sat the largest and most regal throne of them all—

Yet, paradoxically, it was the most subdued in its grandeur.

The other ten thrones flanking it were radiant and individually styled to reflect the auras of their owners.

But all paled in comparison to the one currently occupied.

Her presence swallowed all glory.

No matter how bright others might shine, before her, they were as forgotten moons under a cruel sun.

This was the Cardinal Duchess.

So many tales had been whispered of her power, her domain, and the unfathomable beauty of her daughters.

And yet, the Duchess herself did not immediately strike one as lofty or divine.

Her throne, though large, was simple—crafted from dark brown wood etched with faint silver runes, barely visible. It exuded no overwhelming majesty, unlike the thrones of her daughters.

Its design was feminine, understated.

She wore a simple gown of luminous lavender.

While the color itself was rich, its design held no embellishment. It was plain—almost offensively so.

Only when the light struck it just right did it glow, as if the heavens themselves forced the light to acknowledge a monarch who refused a crown.

She wore no jewelry.

Her hair was tied simply.

Her face bare of makeup.

She looked like a woman who had suddenly realized she could own everything a day ago—and decided it simply wasn't worth the effort.

Yet none of this diminished her beauty.

Her allure was subtle, almost mundane in a world of goddesses.

Her skin—a light, creamy red, lighter than any of her daughters'—shone with a soft pink hue under certain lights.

Her hair was a luscious black, forged from the fabric of the night sky itself, glowing faintly as it absorbed surrounding light. It floated weightlessly, as though she lived beneath water.

Her features were sharply beautiful—every expression mesmerizing in its quiet elegance.

She looked impossibly youthful.

No one could guess she had birthed twenty children—let alone that she was currently with child.

Her belly, though hidden by the loose gown, hinted at its truth, with subtle peaks pressing against the fabric.

Her eyes—shaped like phoenix flames—were her most entrancing feature.

Crimson rubies, gleaming like jewels forged from divine ichor.

They held stories, mysteries, madness, and beauty all at once.

A simple metallic band—made from the same wood as her throne—rested against her head.

So seamless was the blend between it and her hair, many believed it fused with her very being.

And in truth, they wouldn't be wrong... if only those truths were not dangerous for the secret they touched upon.

But now, the Duchess gave no thought to her throne, her attire, or her presence.

Her mind was elsewhere—consumed by a single question.

She tapped her fingers against the armrest of her throne.

"Why do I feel there is something happening that I cannot see?"

"The world hides the answers away from me, and while I can claim to be a patient woman, hypocrisy has always been a tool of Queens for a reason"

Her thoughts drifted toward her youngest daughter—the girl she'd expected so much from.

After all, the man she'd had her with… he was unlike anything.All those that came before him could never hold a candle to him, they were powerful, their potential could have shaped the world.

But like beasts they all fell into her bed, for nothing other than their seed.

And now carrying what was likely her last she had gone all out.

Rraching here she ciuld not help but rub her belly intimately.

"You will be my hope little one."

But Irina's father still sat at the back of her mind no matter how many she had before, and maybe it was the reasone she had never gone ahead to have more for all those sixteen years.

And she would have kept him, if it was not because of her bloodline. That man was just so phenomenal.

And yet, for all intents and purposes, his seed had yielded only disappointment.

There was nothing special about the girl.

She'd given her time to awaken.

Time for potential to bloom.

But nothing came.

Strange behavior? Perhaps.

But unusual minds weren't rare among the flaming bloodlines.

She had waited.

Watched.

Planned.

And when nothing emerged, she took matters into her own hands.

She'd orchestrated events to test the girl—

A beating, a confrontation.

A trial that might stir awakening.

But the girl took it.

Like a wimp.

A disappointment to the bloodline.

And yet...

Something shifted.

There was a strange presence in the air.

A malevolence.

It made her shiver—

It was within her house.

In a swirl of petals, the Duchess vanished.

The theatre was left in poetic silence, as though she had never been there.

In the next moment, she stood in the servants' quarters—

In the midst of a gory scene.

Blood painted the walls.

But the Duchess wasn't disturbed.

No.

It might as well have been a piece of art work left out in the rain to admire.

She looked at the delicate footprints made of blood...

And her eyes gleamed.

A morbid grin broke across her face.

"Hahahahah..."

"Hahaha..."

Her pearly laughter clapped the skies like thunder—

Yet no one heard.

There was something wrong about her laughter.

It clung to perception like a sickly perfume.

Perverse.

Unholy.

But her ruby eyes glowed with maddening light—

A gleam of satisfaction.

All her anxiety melted away.

Finally.

The girl had done something worthy of his lineage.

early.

No... she had missed the signs before.

They had always been there.

She remembered the day she found a nine-year-old Irina, covered in her own blood, her throat brutalized—

And yet, the girl looked around calmly.

As though bathing in her own blood was just another evening pastime.

She had thought it madness—a family trait surfacing early.

But now, seeing this...

She saw it clearly.

The day Irina mutilated her ears.

The day she sold her eyes to the Lurker using forbidden power, she was not meant to hold.

The signs had been everywhere.

And she had been blind.

But now—

Now she knew.

And with that knowledge came peace.

She turned from the bloody scene and walked away without a care.

Her aura had changed—

Lighter.

Freer.

More satisfied.

What this meant for Irina, only time would tell.